


there is no right or wrong way to recover (there is only the decision to do so)

by kayteedancer



Series: November Challenge 2020 [15]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Anxious Katsuki Yuuri, Don't copy to another site, Established Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Katsuki Yuuri in Russia, M/M, Major Character Injury, Yuri Plisetsky Swears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:40:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27587587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayteedancer/pseuds/kayteedancer
Summary: Anxiety was an old friend to Katsuki Yuuri. It had been a constant companion for as long as he can remember, weighing on his shoulders like a heavy scarf, dogging his heels as he tried to stretch further, fly higher, turn faster than he ever had before. And when he transitioned to ice skating full time, his anxiety didn’t really change in function, just compounded as he had more to worry about: edges and speed and enough airtime per rotation on top of everything Minako had worn into him with ballet barres and hardwood floors.So, by the time Yuuri competed at his first ever Grand Prix Finals he was well-accustomed to how his anxiety could make him feel like he was drowning, could make his heart skip a beat and squeeze all the air from his lungs.But this…? This was something different.Yuuri probably should’ve seen this coming. They all should have.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri & Victor Nikiforov & Yuri Plisetsky, Katsuki Yuuri & Yuri Plisetsky, Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Victor Nikiforov & Yuri Plisetsky
Series: November Challenge 2020 [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1996558
Kudos: 79





	there is no right or wrong way to recover (there is only the decision to do so)

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Day 15, everyone! Here's another one of my favorite fandoms: Yuri on Ice!
> 
> Today’s installment is definitely in the hurt/comfort vein; when I saw the prompt I ended up using from @i-write-whump on tumblr, I just had a vivid image of Yuuri, Yuri, and Viktor dealing with a major character injury; something that sadly is incredibly prevalent in figure-skating and something not really touched on in the series. So, I tried my hand at it, and though I changed up the prompt a bit to make it fit the scenario, I'm happy with the way it turned out.
> 
> I also want to give a huge shoutout to everyone who's been leaving me kudos and comments and bookmarking all my fics. I read and respond to every comment, and I can't tell you all how much it means to me to see how much you're enjoying my writing. Thank you so, so much. ❤️❤️
> 
> Please let me know what you think, and come say hi on my tumblr (@sleepeatdancedream)! I would love to talk about fandom, writing, or life in general. Or if that's not your speed, feel free to leave a prompt or twelve of your own!
> 
> Please enjoy Day 15, everyone. Title is a quote by Brittany Burgunder

Anxiety was an old friend to Katsuki Yuuri. It had been a constant companion for as long as he can remember, weighing on his shoulders like a heavy scarf, dogging his heels as he tried to stretch further, fly higher, turn faster than he ever had before. And when he transitioned to ice skating full time, his anxiety didn’t really change in function, just compounded as he had more to worry about: edges and speed and enough airtime per rotation on top of everything Minako had worn into him with ballet barres and hardwood floors.

So, by the time Yuuri competed at his first ever Grand Prix Finals he was well-accustomed to how his anxiety could make him feel like he was drowning, could make his heart skip a beat and squeeze all the air from his lungs.

When Vicchan died and Yuuri crashed and burned, he was swamped by his anxiety, pulled under by the tide as he sank to what he thought was the bottom of his career. He had thought he would never be able to resurface again.

Then Viktor showed up in Hasetsu. And Yurio followed, and suddenly Yuuri wasn’t drowning anymore.

Not that his anxiety was gone, but it was...different. More familiar. Not quite so all-consuming when he had Viktor’s hand in his and Yurio’s slightly threatening encouragement ringing in his ears.

But this…? This was something different.

Yuuri was taking a break and watching Viktor and Yurio run through the first half of Yurio’s new routine. In just the few months since the Grand Prix Finals, Yurio had shot up in height, his shoulders now level with Yuuri’s own. Yuuri knew that this was only the first growth spurt of many and saw visions of the future: a Yurio that was Viktor’s height towering over him and smirking as gold hung at his throat.

But, that was only a potential future. For now, Yuuri could see the frustration on Yurio’s face as he struggled with adjusting to his new height, his rotations slightly off, a bit unstable on his edges as he tried to adjust to his new center of gravity.

He hadn’t practiced jumps since he had complained about pain in his shins and soreness in his knees; Yakov had absolutely forbidden it and Viktor had backed the coach up instantly. Yurio predictably chafed under the restraint, and Yuuri could see Yurio’s anger rising with each botched step sequence and spiral out of a spin that had been as easy to him as breathing before he had shot up nearly 4 inches.

Yuuri probably should’ve seen this coming. They all should have.

It was the end of the day, Yakov long since gone home leaving the rink to Yuuri, Yurio, and Viktor to close up. Yuuri was wiping a towel across his face as Viktor chattered animatedly at him, the light reflecting off the Russian’s gold ring and bringing a smile to Yuuri’s lips. Viktor leaned in, brushing his nose along Yuuri’s and Yuuri couldn’t stop the giggle from escaping him if he tried when he heard it: the slice of skates leaving the ice unsteadily, and the thud of a body hitting the ice and skidding with all the force of a quad loop.  _ Hard _ .

He and Viktor jumped apart, eyes flying to where Yurio was pushing himself up from the ice. Scrambling onto the ice, Yuuri and Viktor skidded to a stop near the young Russian skater as Yurio punched the ice angrily, gritting his teeth around a scream.

“Yura!” Viktor exclaimed, hands fluttering as he lapsed into rapid-fire Russian. Yurio snarled back at him, arms shaking as they struggled to hold himself up. Yuuri’s eyes scanned down the young Russian’s body, taking note of how he refused to put any weight on his left leg at all.

“Viktor,” Yuuri breathed, and the silver-haired Russian’s eyes flicked to his, following Yuuri’s down to rest on the same place: a knee that Yurio wasn’t putting weight on that pressed oddly at the jogger’s the young Russian skater was wearing. Viktor’s blue eyes softened immediately as he sighed heavily, cutting his eyes away as the Russian Punk roared at him.

“Yura, let’s get you up,” Yuuri murmured, slotting a hand under the young Russian’s arm on one side as Viktor mirrored him on the other. Slowly, they got Yurio to a standing position and began helping him exit the ice. Yuuri bit his lips as Yurio choked off a whimper each time he tried putting weight on his left leg.

Thankfully, it wasn’t anything more serious than inflammation and strain on the ACL and meniscus, but the doctor demanded Yurio rest and recover for 2-3 weeks before even thinking about lacing a skate and Yuuri watched Yurio’s eyes shutter at the doctor’s words. Yurio was not to skate, not to put undue pressure on the knee, and needed to be watched and helped as much as possible so he would have to move in with someone for the duration, his grandfather not an option due to the strain on his back already. 

As the doctor stepped out to finalize some paperwork and get a list of recommended stretches and strengthening exercises for Yurio, Yakov immediately started shouting at the young skater, cheeks red with anger and spitting vitriolic Russian that even Yuuri could understand while not speaking a lick of Russian.  Yuuri bit his lip as Yurio slumped like a puppet with his strings cut, sagging under the weight of Yakov’s fury. Viktor remained silent, eyes shimmering with tears and locked on his feet, and Yuuri couldn’t  _ take this anymore _ .

Shoving abruptly to his feet, Yakov cut off mid-word as all three Russians turned to face the Japanese skater. “Yurio...Yura will be staying with Viktor and I,” he commanded softly, and Yakov’s mouth shut with a click. Yura’s eyes widened as Yuuri exhaled shakily, fisting his hands at his sides to mask his anxiety. “We have the space, and I helped Mari through something similar when I was younger. It will be fine. And after the three weeks are up, it’ll all be back to business as usual. Okay?”

The three Russians nodded mutely, something like gratitude shining in Yura’s eyes as Viktor smiled tremulously, snatching up one of Yuuri’s hands and pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles.

To call what followed “easy” would be a massive understatement.

For all that Yura was grateful to be able to stay with him and Viktor instead of with Yakov or Lilia, he chafed at the restriction to his movement and suffered with withdrawal from the ice. Each time he and Viktor grabbed their things for practice, Yura’s eyes sparked with indignation and a hopeless, desperate longing to be going with them.

He would always move gingerly on those days, having pushed himself too hard to get better quicker than his body would allow.

It came to a head just a day shy of his first week with them as Yura snarled as Viktor tried to help him to the living room and tripped and fell hard on his inflamed knee. Yura cried out, and Yuuri and Viktor nearly flew to his side only for the Russian Punk to slap their hands away angrily.

“I don’t need your help! I can do this myself; I don’t fucking need you!” the young skater screamed at them, frustrated tears leaking from his eyes.

Viktor stiffened and pulled away, shading his eyes with his hair as he nodded sharply and exited the room, guilt coming off of him in waves. But Yuuri didn’t say a word, just sat on the floor next to the Russian skater in silence.

Eventually, Yura pushed himself up into a seated position. Scrubbing tears of frustration and pain from his cheeks, he avoided eye contact with Yuuri’s intent gaze.

The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy with guilt and frustration and anger, until Yuuri sighed heavily, tilting his head back against the couch and sliding his eyes shut. The anxiety and worry over Yura that he had been keeping at bay suffused through him like a warm wave, quickening his heartbeat and tightening his throat.

“You know, it’s alright if you take it easy for two or three weeks, Yura,” Yuuri choked out a murmur. “You’re hurt; your knee is strained and you just need some time to recover.” Sitting up, Yuuri caught Yura’s eyes with his own, a small, anxious smile quirking his lips.

“It’s only been a week, Yura,” Viktor’s voice echoed in the silence, and both Yuris turned to look where the tall Russian skater was standing in the entrance to the living room. “It’s going to take you longer than you want for your knee to heal, but that’s okay. It’s your first major injury; you shouldn’t rush it.”

Yuuri nodded and Yura’s eyes fell to his lap, his hands white-knuckled and clenched in the fabric of his pants. “It’s even okay if it takes you longer than you think it will to heal,” Yuuri continued, reaching out and resting a hand over the Russian Punk’s. “We’re more than willing to help you work through it. You don’t even have to ask.”

Yura stayed silent, tears dripping onto where his and Yuuri’s hands lay on his lap. Nodding softly, the Russian Punk flipped his hand to grasp Yuuri’s, squeezing once before looking shyly at Viktor, an apology in his gaze.

It was so easy to forget that Yura was young, so  _ very young _ . With the bravado and the larger than life attitude, Yura always seemed so much larger and more self-assured than he actually was. In reality, he was a 17 year old with his first major injury that prevented him from doing the sport he loved more than life.

Viktor crossed the living room and collapsed gracelessly next to the young Russian, ruffling his hair and speaking to him softly in Russian, and Yuuri felt a bit of his worry and anxiety bleed out of him for the first time since he had heard Yura’s body slam into the ice.

It would be a long three weeks for all of them until Yura could get back on the ice, and an even longer time until he was back training at the level he was before. But Yuuri couldn’t help but feel relief at the weight of Yura’s hand in his and the sound of his voice mixed with Viktor’s.

Yura would get through this minor setback with flying colors; he just had to be more careful of the strain he was putting on himself as his body stretched and grew. And when the Grand Prix Final that year found Yura in the Gold position, Yuuri at Silver, and Viktor at Bronze? Yuuri knew his anxiety and worry would never completely crush him again. Because if Yura could manage to conquer his injury and defend his title, Yuuri could do nothing less than conquer his anxiety.

He had them, after all. And every day, Yuuri was grateful for that fact.


End file.
